


Project's Forever Drabbles

by KasperAura



Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: AUs, Friendship, Multi, Murder, Violence, crossovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-04-25 15:48:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 10,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4966888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KasperAura/pseuds/KasperAura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All of my Forever drabbles that I write on Tumblr are archived here. Some of these can be considered Mature, and I will label those that can be considered Mature.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> February 9th, 2015:  
> Prompt: "What if Henry started meeting parallel versions of himself from other movies and TV shows?"

**Parallel Triple**

Henry didn’t get it. In fact, he didn’t know what to get. He placed a hand over his closed mouth, both from thought and exasperation. Finally, he drew his hand and gestured it towards the person in front of him, taking a breathe.

“Parallel versions’?” He asked. Never in his 200 years of living did he expect to meet someone who not only looked like him, but essentially was him.

The man, in his thirties, nodded. “Yes.” he pointed to the chalkboard at the back of him. “Since December, I’ve been monitoring…shall we say…fluctuations in the Space barrier.”

He began to explain. “You look like me, I look like you, and we both look like the person behind you.”

Henry turned around again to look at the man behind him, who was sitting, a little against his will, on his desk in his laboratory. He too appeared to be in his thirties and looked exactly like himself, except with the beginnings of a mustache and shaggy hair. He looked up from investigating his sword, staring at both of them, before he drew his attention back to the blade.

“Right…” Henry sighed as he turned back around. “He speaks like me,” He began, pointing his thumb over his shoulder to the man behind him, “And you speak like me too, if I was using my American accent.” He had a confused look on his face. “I’m used to the unnatural, but I’m still slightly confused.”

The man, who called himself Reed, gave an exasperated sigh. ”Alright.” He turned back to the dusty chalkboard, which he was using the other side of since the one side had all of Henry’s deaths on it, and drew three lines, each parallel to each other. He gestured to lines. “Pretend these are all parallel universes.” He began. Henry nodded, which prompted him to continue. Even the man behind him placed his blade back in the sheathe and payed attention, slightly bored. “This is what our universes would look like had nothing been disturbed. However…” A little ways over, he drew three lines, but this time, each of them crossed each other at one point. “This is what is happening now. For some reason, each of our universes have crossed.”

Henry crossed his arms, the gears in his mind straining to keep up.

“In my universe,” Reed began, placing a hand to his chest, “I encounter a cosmic storm up in space and gain powers.” He gestured to Henry. “In your universe, you are shot in 1814 and become immortal.” He lowered his hand. “And in…” He stopped as he didn’t know anything about the iteration of himself who was sitting on Henry’s desk.

The man with the blades finally spoke his first words. “I was from a land far away. We didn’t have any…what do you call it…technology?” He sniffed. “And if you have an issue with that…” He drew his sword from its scabbard, hopping off of the desk and pointing the blade’s tip dangerously close to Reed’s neck, which prompted the scientist to hold his hands up in the universal “hey man, be cool” sign.

Henry placed a hand on the man’s hand, which prompted him to then point the blade at him. Henry opened up with a question less threatening.

“Erm…” He began, “You…you haven’t told us your name yet.” He began.

The copy of himself stared at him for what seemed like an eternity before he drew the sharpened blade away, sliding it back in his leather sheath. He held his gaze before finally crossing his arms.

He didn’t want to give away his full name per say, so he decided to try a different approach. He had been in New York City—was that what they called it—since January, and he had heard some names being uttered around town. He tried to recall one he had heard and what pretty confident about pronouncing.

“Just refer to me as Mike.” He stated. The name sounded foreign for him to say, but it would have to do for now.

“Very well.” Reed nodded. “And you’re from this land that sounds similar to the medieval times.” He turned back to the board. “For some reason, we’ve all come together in this universe which, as Henry has told me, is his world.” He placed the worn piece of chalk down, turning back around. Henry had a looked of understanding on his face, but Mike looked like he wanted to add something.

“The answer’s obvious.” He stated matter-of-factly, which perked up the men’s interest. “It is the Gods doing.”

“Gods?” Henry spoke up in confusion.

Mike nodded. “Precisely. And, if they have chosen this way for us, that means that we were fated to meet. They never perform an action without reason.” He pointed a finger at Henry. “It is most likely also the reasoning behind your immortality, as well.” Sitting up off the foot of the desk, he walked past Reed, looking up at the chalkboard. “We just need to find the God responsible and make them reverse this. It’s simple.”

Both Reed and Henry exchanged a glance. Gods…Space itself…no matter what the reason was. one thing was for certain. It would be the strangest thing any of them had ever experienced.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> February 19th, 2015  
> For thecoyotetrickster:  
> "Henry finds a stray dog and takes care of it." (Part 1 and Part 2)

The snow was coming down fast, and it wasn’t bound to stop any time soon.

And great. Just great. The heavens had decided to open up just as Abe had sent Henry out to get some staple items from the store. Apparently he was making a dish that would, and he quotes, “knock your socks off.” Whatever that meant.

A thin sheet of snow was starting to cover the roads, and the cars that passed Henry by on the street were actually beginning to reduce their speed. The snow would last for the next hours and not taper off until the next morning.

Sighing, Henry picked up his pace, slinging the bag over his shoulder as to carry it easier. The jacket he was wearing, like all his others, didn’t have a hood, so the snow was starting to stick to his hair. He didn’t mind, though. Sure, it was bitterly cold outside, but he rather enjoyed the snow. It made everything quieter.

That was, until, he heard a soft whine.

Perking up, Henry stopped in his tracks, looking around. It wasn’t some cry from a human, no, it was from an animal. He turned around to look behind him, and. looking down, he found the source of the sound. It was a dog, who looked back at him with perked up ears and a tilted head.  
Its golden-yellow coat was a bit matted in some areas, but it’s fluffy tail was slightly wagging, like it was begging for food. Seeing no reaction from Henry, the dog whined again, sitting down on the snow-covered sidewalk, its tail halting in its tracks.

Seeing that reaction, the dog had successfully tugged at the doctor’s heart strings. “Hello there…” He spoke gently, crouching down. “Where did you come from?” He asked, as if the dog could speak perfect English.

The dog simply stared back at him, not making a move. He placed the bag down on the ground and, gently, began to move his hand forward. The dog perked up a bit of a snarl, and he drew back, not wanting to be bit and having to explain that to everyone. Again, he moved his hand forward, but stopped at a certain point, letting the dog come to him.  
Sure enough, after a bit of hesitation, the dog moved forward cautiously, sticking it’s black nose out. It sniffed his hand, trying to see if he would bring him harm. Of course he wouldn’t. He rather enjoyed animals; especially ones that didn’t have a home to go to.

The dog stopped smelling his hand and drew back, staring into his eyes once again. Carefully, he reached out and began to rub the dog’s neck, which was a comforting way to get dogs to recognize you as not harmful.

The dog gladly accepted the rubbing, raising its head up. It began to pant in happiness, its tail wagging again. Henry brought his arm forward, running a hand down the dog’s back. The dog’s posture began to drop, realizing that this person would cause him no harm.

However, when Henry got to the dog’s middle back, it let through a small growl. Across the skin, where the spine was, there was a long gash. It was healed over, but it had appeared to be inflicted a little less than four months ago. Henry drew back his arm in shock.

“You were abused…” He spoke in disbelief, barely suppressing his anger. How could someone do that to a poor, innocent dog? Looking over to the bag that now sat on the ground, he reached into it, pulling out a loaf of bread. Gripping either side of it, he pulled, breaking off a small piece of it.

“Here…” He spoke gently, handing it to the dog. The dog came up in curiosity, smelling the bread. After a few seconds, it opened its mouth (showing a chipped fang) and took the bread, getting a taste for it. It then placed it on the ground, taking a bite out it.

Smiling, Henry stood back up, grabbing the bag as he did so. As he began to walk away, unbeknownst to him, the dog followed closely behind, the bread in its mouth. It was now ever so grateful for the deeds of the kind doctor.

\---------------

_Pain Level:_

Henry halted the ink pen in its tracks before he drew the number. In fact, he was unsure what the number was. While he was out gathering information for a case, he lost his footing on fire escape stairs, falling off the edge and breaking his neck on impact, taking an impromptu swim in the river again. Luckily, he wasn’t arrested.  
Nevertheless, it was difficult to calculate the pain of something that was so quick. It was something comparable to a gunshot to the head. Brisk, easy and painless. The last time he had broken his neck had been over ten years ago; it was due to black ice on the road he was crossing. He never did calculate the pain for that, either. Naturally, though, after staring at other comparable entries for the last half hour, he went with what sounded best.

_Pain Level: 8+_

He set the pen down after cleaning off the tip, making sure that none of the ink got dried onto it. He sighed, sitting back in his chair and closing his eyes. Maybe he could get a better reading if he just slept for a few minutes.

“Henry!” He heard his son call from upstairs, which woke him up with a bit of an annoyed groan. Sitting up out of the chair, he ascended the steps, rubbing his neck. The position he had sat in had been uncomfortable for the last few minutes.

“Yes?” He asked, trying to mask his tiredness. Abe was standing at the door, holding it open slightly, which let the below-freezing breeze into the house and letting the warmth outside. He approached the door, and when he saw what his son was staring at, he stopped in his tracks.

There it was. Knotted, golden-yellow fur and all. The dog had been laying down near the door, sheltering from the wind, but, once it saw Henry, it sat up, tail wagging and panting happily. It caused Abe to raise an eyebrow at him.

“Looks like you two know each other…” He mused, crossing his arms.

“Yes…” Henry began, crouching down to the dog’s level, “This dog came up to me yesterday, begging for food. I ended up giving him a piece of bread.” He looked over his shoulder, “Because he had been abused.”

The dog came close to his face, trying to lick him, but he drew back, rather not fond of dog saliva. The dog stood up from its position, and began to walk, but Henry quickly observed that it was walking with a limp. More specifically, it was holding its right back leg up, trying not to put pressure on it.

“It’s been injured again.” He reported. The dog came over to him, and he carefully reached down, wanting to fix what had been broken. The dog perked up a snarl at him, but soon relaxed at his gentle touch.

“It’s sprained.” He noted softly. Looking the dog over, he also noticed that there were fresh scratches across its back that looked like they had been inflicted in the last twenty-four hours. Not only that, but they had also been inflicted by something sharp. A knife, perhaps.

Drawing his hand back, he formed a fist, standing up. “He is being abused.” He spoke, angry. He turned back to his son in quick motion. As he was about to open his mouth to ask permission to bring him inside, Abe held up hand of understanding.

“You can bring him down to your dungeon of death,” He began, Henry raising an eyebrow at the term, “But only if you promise to clean up the fur he’ll leave behind.” 

Henry nodded, promising. It was worth the life of this poor dog.

Since the dog was unfit to walk, and Henry didn’t want it walking anyways, he was aiming to pick up the dog to be able to carry it. It took a few minutes of carefully reaching and having to draw back, because the dog either snarled or, in one case, took a nip at him. He was only nervous, after all. It was an expected reaction.

Eventually, after ten minutes, the dog relented to him. Picking him up gently, the doctor carried him downstairs, placing him down onto the ground.

The dog didn’t move, since it was in an unfamiliar area. It might have been out of fear, or maybe it was because of something that had happened earlier. Either way, it was hurt and in need of help.

Henry didn’t know much about dogs when compared to humans, but he had dealt a bit with first aid on them back in the war. Getting down to the dog’s level, he held out his hands, showing it that he didn’t mean any harm. The dog limped over to him, smelling his hands and investigating him. It then layed down, it’s tail drooping. A sign that it was both growing tired and becoming comfortable.

As Henry was about to work on wrapping up its back leg in a bandage, he heard a voice behind him.

“Zeus.” It commented. The doctor turned around to look at his son, raising an eyebrow.

“Excuse me?” He asked, slightly confused.

Abe looked as his father like he was an idiot. “Well, he needs a name, doesn’t he?” He began to walk forward, but Henry halted him with a hand, making sure to not make the dog too nervous. “I thought of that name ‘cause that scar on his back resembles a lightning bolt.” He pointed to the one that Henry had seen yesterday when he first meant the pup, and he was right. It was jagged, just like the bolts of electricity that dominated the sky during a thunderstorm.

The dog raised its head from its laying down position, looking at Abe now. It seemed unsure what he would do, so it continued to look at him. Of course, this proved the perfect distraction. Getting a bit closer, Henry went to wrapping up the wound in some form of an Ace bandage, trying to halt the movement.

The dog realized what he was doing, and turned around, perking up its lip in a snarl, but by then, Henry was doing bandaging the leg, and the dog then looked at him, its ears perking up in surprise. It put its head down near the leg, smelling the weird, elastic bandage on its leg. It then tried to stand up and walk, but it still held its leg up. It tried to put the injured leg down, but once it touched the hardwood, it put its leg back up. Giving up, and extremely tired, it laid back down. Both men could see the energy physically drain from its body.

Henry let out a sigh of relief, realizing that he wouldn’t die for the second time that night. He sat on the ground, leaning back and using his arms to support him. He looked over to Abe.

“Zeus?” He tried the name out, nodding and smiling. “I think that fits him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> August 31st, 2015  
> Anonymous Prompt:   
> "How about a prompt with just Adam? I leave the rest up to you..."

_August, 2014_

No. No, he didn’t have time to go back to school.

Granted, online classes would be a breeze for him–at this point, any school and any class was simple if you studied hard enough.

But the trail he was on was too fresh, too close. He could almost taste it. All he needed was a time, a place, and a phone number. He had the name, but he needed the proof. He had been set back a thousand years in the nineteen-eighties, but he had continued his research. At this point, the Internet had been his best friend.

Pulling the collar on his coat, he continued to walk down the street, keeping his head low. That man…he swore he would find him by September.

At this point, he was used to running and falsifying his life. He had decided it was time to do it once again.

He reached into his pocket, pulling out his cell phone. Swiping upwards on the screen, the GPS he had pulled up showed the meeting place was a block away. Sighing slightly, he locked the phone via the button on the side, sliding it back down into his pocket.

Cell phone…yeah, he’d need a burner phone as well.

Crossing the street, not caring to look left and right, he stopped in front of a two-floored building. The neon sign hanging on the front was bright–they were always meant to get attention. Inside, it looked like a combination of a bar and a small area where half-drunk people tested their luck at playing various card games.

Placing his gloved hand on the door, he pushed the door open, the smell of cigarette smoke clearly stuffed into the bar. He was used to it by now, but the smell stuck to his clothes like thorns to a woolen shirt.

Inside, a couple people turned their heads to see who came in the door, but they all lost interest after a few second. Raising his head, he cast his gaze towards the back door, where a sigh labeled “Quiet Room” hung on the door. How pleasant. Keeping a pace, he walked towards the door, swerving around the people who were standing up and refused to move out of his way. He gripped the doorknob on the old steel door and pulled forward, revealing the contents inside.  
It looked like a large closet, for various things were stored there. There was one table with a fine red cover on it, and around it, eight people sat, all either looking at the cards in their hand or observing the various colored chips laid out on the table. He closed the door behind him, and all heads turned to look at him. Reaching up, he gripped his hat, pulling it off from the front.

“Good evening.” He spoke in his usual calm tone.

“Good evening…” One man repeated. “You don’t need to be polite here, ‘ya know.” He sniffed, placing his cards down on the table face down.

One man, who chuckled to himself, gripped the cigarette in his mouth, pulling it out. With a long sigh, he released the smoke as he reached over, dabbing the cigarette in the tin off to the side to snuff it out.

“Well guys,” He spoke in a rich New York accent, “Why don’t you all go get a refill on your beers and such?”

“Sure.” A couple of them said in succession to each other. Silently, they all left the room, though one or two murmured to themselves. As the last man was about to leave, he turned to the one man still sitting down at the table.

“You’ll be fine?” He asked, shifting his head to the side.

“Yeah.” He simply answered back. “Just close the door behind you.”

Breathing out his nose sharply, he turned back around, closing the door, which sealed the noise outside as the room became quiet once again.

“Please…” The man gestured to the table, “Sit down.”

Silently, he took his seat, placing his hat on the table.

Clearing his throat, the man began. “I think we should have a name to call each other.” He placed a hand on his chest. “You can just call me Rich.” He removed his hand from his chest, gesturing to the man in front of him. “And you? I won’t be calling you by the name you gave me, obviously.”

He sat back slightly. The metal chair was not the most comfortable. “Adam.” He said flatly.

“Man of a few words, I see?” Rich commented. When he didn’t speak back, Rich sighed, leaning back in his chair. “And yet, the documents you asked for were interesting.” Leaning to the side, he pulled out a metal case from under the table, one which looked like it could contain a backgammon set inside. He placed it on the rim of the table, and Adam observed that it was locked by both a three-digit code and a key.

“Now then…” Rich placed an open hand onto the briefcase. “My money. We agreed on seven-hundred-and-fifty, no?”

“I would like to see the documents first.” Adam countered.

“That’s not how we do this though.”

Adam hummed in thought. “But how am I to assume the documents are in there? For all I know, the case could be completely empty.”  
Rich slightly squinted his eyes. This man was playing hard to get. “Fine.” He spoke, a slight growl in his voice. He turned the front of the case towards him. He rolled the numbers on the three-digit code to a certain combination and then, reaching into his pocket, he produced a small brass key. He slid the key smoothly into the hole on the case, turning left. A satisfying click echoed from the case as he removed the key. He gripped the top, opening up the case to reveal a fine red felt lining. Slowly, he turned the case towards his client.

“Everything is in there.” Rich spoke in a slightly hushed voice. “Driver’s license, vehicle registration, and of course, the degree you asked me to make.” He pulled his hands back, allowing Adam to reach in and investigate them.

They felt real. They looked real. He had to silently admit to himself that the work that had been done in front of him was extensive.

“Oh, and as a bonus…” Rich commented after a few seconds, leading Adam to cast his gaze up to him, “Look at this.” He reached behind him, pulling a small handheld black light from among the pile of items that had been stored. He picked up the driver’s license and shined the black light onto the license.

Shining back at him, the invisible prints of every official New York state issued license came out. Those two distinct marks–both coat of arms–appeared on the license. Adam blinked twice. That was truly impressive.

“I finally got a reaction from you.” Rich smiled to himself. He set the license back down, leaning back in his chair. Smiling, he pulled another cigarette out of its pack, placing it in the corner of his mouth. “Like I said, you’ll find that everything’s in there.” He lit the cigarette, taking a second to feel the smoothing smoke run down his throat. He breathed out, taking a second to relax. “Now, my money.”

The room went silent for a few second. His client was not happy with the price. Slowly, the smile on Rich’s face fell. “I think it’s a fair price, yeah?”

Adam kept his gaze though, until he let it drift to the deck of cards sitting perfectly on the table. “Why don’t you reveal the top card on the deck?”

Rich squinted his eyes suspiciously. Slowly, he reached out, slipping the card off the deck. He turned it towards him, reacting almost instantly. A ten of spades. Holy crap…that would give him a royal flush.

He looked back up to the man in front of him, who didn’t show any sign of a smile.

“$350.” Rich simply spoke, placing the card back down into its place. Producing the money from his jacket pocket, Adam placed the money onto the table, Rich taking it into his hand, rolling it up, and placing into his pocket. Silently, he closed the case, locking it with the key. He handed over the key, telling him that the passcode was engraved on the back of the key. With a nod, Adam stood up, taking the case with him.

Now, he was one step closer to finding that man. Soon, he would not be alone any longer.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> August 25th, 2015  
> Anonymous Prompt:  
> "Prompt: Henry and Abe, “Looks like we’ll be trapped for a while…” or “This is without a doubt the stupidest plan you’ve ever had. Of course I’m in.”"

He drew in a deep breath, letting it out as a shallow sigh. He closed his eyes, reaching up and pulling off his reading glasses by one arm, placing them on his desk. He cast his gaze back up to his father, taking in what he just said.

“So…let me get this straight,” Abe began, not taking his eyes off Henry. “You want us to go into some condemned and abandoned warehouse from the nineteen-fifties”

Henry’s eyebrows rose slightly as he removed his hands from his jacket pocket. “Yes.”

“Scrape…” He rubbed a hand over his face, “Scrape oxidized metal off of some random pole in some random pile of rubble.”

“Well, not just any pile of rubble.” Henry pointed out, raising a finger.

“Mhm.” Abe nodded his head slightly. “And then–and I’m not sure about this one–you want to cut yourself on this pole and see how long it takes for the rust to enter your system?”

Henry sniffed, squinting his eyes slightly. “It’s less painful than it sounds, but that is the general idea.”

“Okay, that’s what I thought.” Abe closed the book he had been investigating on his desk. “Meanwhile, this factory could collapse at any moment?”

Henry simply shrugged. “Not likely, but it could happen.”

Silence filled the antique shop once again as both men looked at each other before Abe broke the silence.

“This is without a doubt the stupidest plan you’ve ever had.” Abe began, pushing the chair back as he stood up. As a look of slight disappointment filled his father’s features, Abe broke out a small smile, raising a finger. “Of course I’m in. Don’t count me out.”

Henry let out the breath he had been holding. “Very well. Let’s–”

“But hold up!” Abe announced, his father turning around on his heels. “You know what I said before. Don’t pull a job on an empty stomach.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> July 21st, 2015  
> Prompt by argylepiratewd:  
> "Henry, Abe, "We can send a hazmat team to get your things." or "You look like a peacock."?"

“Listen Abe, the reason why we’re not letting you in is because there was a toxin that was found there.” Jo tried to reason with the man. They were having their own one-on-one conversation, for Henry was busy investigating a car crash victim that had just come in. He had his hands full since Lucas had called in sick.

“Toxin?” Abe asked back, crossing his arms. “You know I don’t keep those things around.”

“It’s true. I got rid of most of the toxins months ago.” Henry spoke, hearing their conversation quite clearly. He pulled a bloody shard of glass from the man’s arm, taking a second to look at it in the light before placing it on a clean tray to the side.

“Yeah, but what kind of toxin are we talking about here?” Abe fired back, not paying attention to his father’s attempt to break up the tension

“Two things, actually.” Hanson chimed in, walking up behind Jo. “Cyanide and carbon monoxide, if you can imagine that. And the CO detectors would’ve got off. And look, we can send a hazmat team to get your things.” Hanson offered. “That is, assuming this isn’t the doc’s fault.”

Henry had been writing notes down on the pad about the things he had found, and at that sentence, the pen stopped moving as he ended in the middle of writing a cursive “s.” He slowly looked up from the pad.

“Why would you assume it was my fault?” He asked, placing the pad down, squinting his eyes slightly. He felt a bit hurt by the accusation.

Jo raised an eyebrow at that. “Well, not for nothing, you do have some…weird things down there.” She crossed her arms.

“Yes, but I don’t keep poisons down there, as I just said.” He put his own argument in. It was a white lie though–he did have mercury down there for certain needs, but it was kept in a controlled environment.

“Look, look.” Abe put his hands up, following up from his father as he made his own attempt to break the soon-to-be angry conversation. “First off, the detectors were working fine, so maybe somebody sabotaged them?”

“…It’s possible.” Hanson chimed in after a few seconds of silence. “Look, we can take a look into it if you want. But I’m not sure we’ll come up with anything.”

“Yeah, I know right?” Abe gestured to himself. “I mean, who would want to kill a defenseless old man?”

Henry couldn’t help but chuckle at that. To everyone, it felt like Abe were talking about himself, but from previous joke attempts at home, he knew he was referring to him. That being said, the current situation was nothing to laugh about. It could be his fault–things got lost down in his laboratory from time to time–but it seemed too suspicious to him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> July 4th, 2015  
> Prompt by darklyndsea:  
> "Henry suffers hair/mustache related incidents before he dies."

_1912_

It wasn’t shaping up to be a good year, in the doctor’s opinion. Sure, many important events had occurred up until the date, those being America gaining two more states and rumor of a five star “unsinkable” cruise liner setting sail sometime in early April, but other than that, it was all depressing. With the outbreak of illness, he was overworked. 

And fires weren’t really helping the situation at all, and it was a large one. And how uncanny, for on the same date a year before, one of the worst fires he had ever seen happened, and in a simple shirtwaist factory no less.

He didn’t consider himself a reckless man, by any means. Maybe his sense of self preservation had worn off after he had obtained his immortality. 

Early in the afternoon, reports of a fire in Manhattan had streamed in. He didn’t need a notice because he was able to see the smoke from where he was, and that happened to be a block away from the actual fire. As he saw the trucks go past, followed up by several more, he knew it was bad.

“We need to help.” He had spoke to his working mate, Will, who had been tending a young boy at the time with a terrible cough. After some debate between them, Will’s argument being that his father had died in a fire and he didn’t want a repeat of that, Henry finally countered by saying that their medical knowledge could be put to use on the field by helping injured people. After a sigh of defeat, Will concurred with him, and the two headed over there.

When they had gotten there, arriving as close as they needed to be, the building was fully engulfed, and it appeared that it wouldn’t hold much longer. At one point, the two of them noticed a young woman run out of the building and up to the firemen, shouting at them. Henry had rushed up to her, asking her what was wrong. When she had told him that her son was still stuck inside the house, it didn’t take the reckless doctor no more than five seconds before his feet left the pavement, rushing inside. He never really though he’d be running through a burning building to save someone, not even knowing what he was doing in the first place. Yet here he was, risking his life to save a young one, someone who had many more years.

The flames hadn’t had a chance to reach the first floor, but he knew they would soon enough. The mother had said her son was on the second floor, so up was the direction he had to go. He found a staircase–thankfully still intact–and headed for it, noticing the ominous light of the fire bleeding through the door at the top of the stairs.

As he reached it, he touched the door lightly. It felt a bit warm, but he was sure he wouldn’t be instantly burned alive once he opened it. He opened it up a bit, and that’s when he felt the warmth of the fire on his face. As he stepped inside, he saw the flames starting to lick at the back wall, rubble in a small pile in the corner of the room. Near the rubble was the boy he was looking for, clearly panicking. He was giving the fire a minute or so before it crashed its way into the room, so he had to act fast.

Rushing in, he ran over to the boy, putting on the most comforting gaze he could manage. The boy clearly saw he was trying to help him, so he ran into his arms as he picked him up, holding him tight. He felt the heat at his back as he ran down the stairs, letting the boy go on the ground. The boy looked back to him, tears streaks cutting through the soot on his face.

“I’ll be fine.” Henry assured the boy, and the boy, seeing the look on his face, ran outside and hopefully towards his mother. 

As he turned around to head back upstairs, part of the floor gave way, exposing the bare bones of the upstairs room. As he raised his arms up in front of his face to protect himself, he saw the dragons tongues of fire lap at the outside walls, and he could feel the harsh heat and sweat on his face.

That’s when he heard the entire building give a loud shudder, like it was releasing its final breath. He looked up and gasped, recognizing that sound easily. The familiar sound of the building falling in on itself hit his ears, and before he knew it, everything went silent, the sound fading out as he saw the familiar scenes of his life flash before his eyes.

For a second, there was darkness, and then the crisp late March coldness of the East River hit him like the rubble yet again as he breached the surface of the water, drawing in air in relief. He’d rather be swimming than remained buried. That being said, the cause of death would be difficult to determine later.

As he began to make his way up to the coast, hoping to escape without being noticed, he happened to look down, seeing his reflection in the water. That’s when he noticed that, sometime during his daring rescue, part of his mustache and the hair on the side of his face had been completely singed off, leaving him looking like he had a bad accident with a razor.

Letting out a sigh, he climbed the rest of the way out of the water, heading for the nearest bush where he had decided to store his clothes. As he reached into the bag, he let out a silent sigh.

“How am I going to explain _this_ one?” He whispered to himself. He had gotten out once. He hoped he could get out again


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> June 29th, 2015  
> Prompt from kythe42:  
> "I can’t breathe!” Henry and Abe please."

It was nighttime, and clear outside, at least as clear as the city could be. Even though some of the more darker stars weren’t visible, the almost full moon certainty was, and it reflected off the waves of the East River as the tide lapped against the coast, making it a rather beautiful scene.

Two men stood side by side, staring out at the water. One of them let out a long sigh he hadn’t known he was holding.

“I really do miss her.” He spoke in his accented voice, closing his eyes and listening to the water splash against the shoreline.

The other, much older man let out a lighter sigh as well, looking over at his father. “Yeah, I do too.” He looked around the area, seeing no one within earshot. “I do too, dad.”  
It was only two months ago that they had come to the exact spot and scattered her ashes on the water. It was painful to know how she died. But at least the man who did it to her would never move again in his life.

“She would’ve enjoyed the view tonight.” Henry muttered, resting his chin on the railing, leaning back a bit. As Abe observed, the shadows cast on his face made him seem older than he actually was. Even after two months, the events that had occurred in only a few days still rested on his shoulders, and it was hard to get away from.

Abe reached over, placing a hand on his father’s shoulder, which caused him to shift his distant gaze towards him.

“I’m still here for you.” He spoke to him, gripping his shoulder a bit harder. He wanted to relay the message to him that they would both get through this, but it would be difficult.  
Henry continued to look at him for a few more seconds until he gave a curt nod, not saying anything else. He lifted his head off the railing. placing a hand on his son’s hand, and then he gently brushed his hand off his shoulder. He knew how tough it was, but sometimes it was a bit difficult to counteract it with a secret like his. He had no one to confide in except for Abe and, most recently, Jo.

“It’s only a few blocks from home here.” Henry commented quietly. “I’ll walk home.”

“Are you sure?” Abe asked, his voice full of concern.

Henry turned around, replying with a simple, “Yes.” After casting his look over the water one more time, and then looking up to see the moon, he began to walk away without another word.

“Dad?” Abe commented, stepping forward a bit.

Henry stopped walking, looking at the ground. He then looked up and over his shoulder. “Love you too, Abe.” He commented, reading his son’s mind. As he began to walk again, he stopped in his tracks once more, casting his look over to the gathering of trees a few steps away. Years of training his eyes to get used to the darkness had made him to be able to make out things that other people couldn’t see without a light source. It was quick, but a shadow hid behind one of the trees.

“Stay here.” Henry spoke, raising a hand.

“What do you see?”

“Someone’s watching us.” He spoke back, keeping his eyes trained on the trees. Another flash of movement. “They’ve been listening to us.” A few more seconds of pausing, and Henry made up his mind. “I’m going to go see.”

Carefully, he walked slowly over to the gathering of trees, making sure he stayed out of sight of whoever it was that was hiding. For all he knew, it could be a stoner trying to hide from the cops, or it could be someone looking to rob them. Either way, he was going to find out.

Stepping into the grove of trees, he came around one of the thick logs, out of sight of his son. He placed his hand on one of the trunks, then all of a sudden, he felt an arm reach its way around his throat, grabbing him back against a body. As he was about to shout, he felt a hand clasp over his mouth.

“Don’t yell, or I will kill you.” He heard a voice threaten in a strangely calm fashion, though it didn’t take Henry too long to figure out who it was. Slowly, the man removed a hand from his mouth, allowing the doctor to take a breath of air, almost choking on it. There was still an arm around his throat, so he couldn’t escape.

“How…” He managed to whisper out, “…how did you recover?” He shifted his eyes to the side, catching a glimpse of his captor. He tried swallowing. “…Adam?”

Adam let out a soft hum of thought. “They took me off life support. You know as well as I do that people die if that happens to them.” He cast a blank stare, looking back at Henry, “Although now I’ve made, as you would call it, a ‘full recovery.’”

“So you’re going to kill me now?” Henry squinted his eyes slightly. “For revenge?” He tried to struggle a bit, but failed to break out of the grasp.

“No.” Adam gave a simple response, leading Henry to let out a small gasp. That was something he hadn’t expected. “Not yet, anyways.” He drew his arm back, allowing Henry to break free and stumble forward, catching his breath.

“What…” Henry looked over his shoulder in confusion.

“Being in that room, stuck in bed and paralyzed, gave me time to think.” Adam spoke in a quiet voice. “I will kill you eventually.” He turned on his heels, no longer facing the doctor. “Today you live. But I will be coming.” And with that, he shoved his hands into his coat pockets, casually walking away.

Henry stood there for a second, leaning against the tree. Even though he wasn’t in Adam’s rough grip anymore, he found it hard to draw in fresh air. 

_I can’t breathe…_ He thought to himself. He looked at his hand, seeing himself shake. _I must be hyperventilating…_ He swallowed hard, regaining his balance after a few seconds. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself.

“Dad?” He heard a familiar voice behind him, and he lightly gasped, both in surprise and relief. He turned his head to look at his son, who stared right back at him with a look of concern. Slowly, Henry raised his gaze to look at Abe.

“What is it?” Abe asked him gently, taking him by the shoulders.

Henry drew in a deep breath of self control. He was not prepared to tell him, but it would come out one way or another. After a few quick seconds of pausing, he opened his mouth.

“Adam’s back."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> June 2nd, 2015  
> Prompt from astracharlie:  
> 'Please put it down' with Henry and Jo! :)

Their killer was insane. That’s all they knew. Utterly insane.

A day ago, a murder had been committed. When they had got to the scene–an apartment building located in the Lower East Side–it was a gruesome scene. What had been reported as one body turned into two, and by the end of it, they had five bodies and a mass murderer to catch. 

What had been odd, or rather disturbing, was the way they were killed. No puncture wounds, no visible marks. It was as if they had just dropped dead. The initial search of the place turned up nothing, so with no other options, Henry decided that he and Jo should take matters into their own hands and look. He was confident that there was something they could find.

And here she was now, running a flashlight along the darkened walls of the apartment, It was nighttime outside, and although the skyline was hazy as always, some light was still being let through.

“So nothing?” Jo continued their conversation they had held when they were driving over.

“Nothing at all.” Henry nodded, confirming her thoughts. “Not on any of the victims. If it were a common poison, say mercury, then it would be detectable, even in minuscule amounts.” He shined his flashlight into one of the rooms of the current apartment they were in, and continued on as he saw nothing. “But they came back clean. In Detective Hanson’s words: ‘It was as if they dropped dead where they stood.’”

Jo remained silent for a minute or so, thinking. “Some poisons are undetectable, right?” He asked him.

Henry sighed. “Unfortunately, yes, some are. And if our killer used one of those poisons…” he shined his flashlight onto the ground, and as his eyes readjusted to the light, he saw a tiny glass vial sprawled onto the floor with a black cap firmly tightened on the top. He crouched down to get a better look at it. “…then it complicates things.” He pulled a glove out of his suit pocket, snapping it on. He nudged it first with his flashlight in case it was a highly toxic poison. He saw the contents inside roll around. It was something akin to fake iron, for it reflected off the light and contained black bits.

“Poison?” Jo asked, getting around the other side to look at it.

“Yes, but not just any poison.” He went to reach for it, but decided against it. Looking around, he noticed a stray piece of newspaper sitting on the table. He reached for it, gripping it and then slowly reached in, grabbing the vial with the newspaper. He held it up and shined the flashlight onto it. “Arsenic. The King of Poisons–known for its discreteness and potency. A couple drops could kill a healthy adult within minutes.” He paused, staring at it. “Maybe even seconds.”

“Okay…” Jo looked at him, worrying if he’d open the vial, because that would be a Henry thing to do. No self preservation skills. “Please…put the King of Poisons down. The last thing I need is for you–or me–to die today.”

Henry hummed in thought as he wrapped the vial tightly in the newspaper. “No, it’s worse than I thought.”

“Huh?”

“Jo, if arsenic is involved, our killer could do away with anyone and we would have no way of detecting it.” He stood back, not making eye contact. “Remember the case when we first met, where the killer used aconite?”

Jo just nodded. That was an interesting case, more so because that was the first time she had interacted with Henry. 

“Aconite is strong; it can kill within a minute of exposure.” Henry looked over to Jo, concerned now. “But arsenic can kill faster than that. We need to find this killer, and fast.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> June 1st, 2015  
> Prompt from Trekkiel:  
> Can you do "Who did this to you?" With Henry and a beat up Lucas please?

“Beautiful blade, isn’t it?” Henry commented, holding up the worn leather hilt.

“Yeah,” Abe began, taking it away from him, “And I’d rather you not poke yourself with it.”

Just before closing, a man had come in saying he was an Arms Dealer from Boston. He was in the area looking for people to trade some items with. He had stumbled upon the shop when one of the people had requested it to him. He had been looking for a Japanese Bayonet for a customer and was willing to trade a sword from his own collection from the Civil War, scabbard and all. Henry would have recommended The Frenchman, but the blade was in such a good condition. After trading and chatting for a few minutes, the antique dealer left, happy with what he had.

“‘Poke myself?’” Henry barely contained a laugh, “Abe, come now. As your father, shouldn’t I be saying that?” He went to reach for the blade, for he wasn’t finished quite looking at it, but Abe shifted away from him.

“Come on, the last thing I need tonight is for you to die of tetanus.” Abe remarked, placing the blade gently on the shelf where they kept all the sharp things.

Henry just jokingly scoffed at that. “I’ve died of tetanus once, back in 1898.” He began. “It’s very painful. I got it-”

“-by cutting yourself on a rusty shovel, right?” Abe finished his sentence, causing Henry to give him a look. “Oh come on, I practically know all your important deaths by heart now.”

Sighing in defeat after a few seconds of pausing, Henry walked forward. “Yes…I suppose I should stop talking about death, then. In your words, ‘it’s depressing.’“

“No, it’s not that.” Abe set the glass down he had been looking at, “It’s just that–Henry.” Abe went to continue on, telling him that his obsession of death was 'normal’ for a person like him, but he cut himself off as he saw a familiar face at the door reach up and almost knock. Henry turned on his heels, staring out the locked door.

“It’s Lucas.” He commented, walking over to the door. Unlocking it, he opened it up, revealing that it was indeed Lucas. The only problem was that he was clutching his shoulder and seemed to be in pain.

“Hey doc…” Lucas began, trying not to wince in pain, “I know you’re busy, but do 'ya…” He cut himself off, looking over to his shoulder, shaking it a bit. 

After a mere two seconds of looking at it, Henry could just faintly see blood leaking through his shirt. Without another word, Henry looked at him, serious now. Stepping aside, he let Lucas through, gesturing for him to go downstairs with him. 

After a minute or so of sitting down in the chair, Henry was done gathering the materials he needed to clean the wound. He pulled on a pair of gloves as to not touch any of his blood, uncorking a black bottle of what Lucas assumed to be hydrogen peroxide. 

“Lucas, who did this to you?” Henry spoke in a serious tone, going in to clean the wound.

“See there was this guy.” Lucas launched into explanation, pulling up his sleeve to reveal the wound–it was a fairly large gash that ran from the top of his shoulder all the way down to the bottom of it–making sure that the shirt was tucked up so it wouldn’t slip. “And he came up to me and pulled out a knife, like a switchblade, I guess.” He winced in pain at the stinging sensation of the liquid. “He wanted to rob me, and I tried to fight him off, but he ended up getting me on my shoulder. At least it wasn’t something crucial, right?” Lucas tried to shrug, but stopped himself from doing so.

Henry sighed, still wiping the blood away from the wound. Dried blood was already starting to cake the wound as the bleeding seemed to be slowing down. Soon, it would start scabbing over.

“Lucas.” Henry stopped cleaning the wound for a second, looking into his eyes. Lucas could practically tell what Henry was about to say just by the look.

“Yeah I-” He winced in pain again, but continued shortly after, drawing in a breath. “I know. I should never try to fight someone.”

“It’s not that.” Henry was done cleaning the wound, and went in to try and bandage it best he could. “It’s the fact that you stayed to fight. You could have been seriously injured.” He stood back up, removing his gloves as he was done wrapping the wound. “Next time, don’t go picking fights with people who are stronger than you." 

Lucas stood up, moving his arm around gently. After a few seconds of pausing, he looked at Henry. "I just want to be cool like you, ya know?” The words escaped his mouth before he could stop himself, and he gasped, ready to rebut the statement as he mentally kicked himself.

What he hadn’t expected was for Henry to chuckle at that statement. “Whose to say you aren’t?”

Leaving Lucas with that statement, he went to toss the bloodied gloves, giving the assistant ME time to brood on that, confusion clearly on his face.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> December 22, 2015  
> From bearholdingashark: "How much have you had? Hanson & Jo."

She looked over her shoulder, gazing out the front door, her cup of cheap whiskey hanging in the air, suspended halfway between the table and her mouth. As the customer who left walked out the door, pulling their hood up, she noticed how the snowfall had increased over the last few minutes.

Snow. Snow. It reminded her of two things. Two strong people, who were now two knots interrupting the string of life. Her string.

She set the cup back down, turning her head back to stare at the cup. She blinked once. Dammit.

“So life is hard, I take it then?” Her partner answered besides her. As Jo took another sip of her drink, Hanson came to the conclusion that he hit the nail on the head.

“Yeah.” Jo simply murmured back. “And I’m not really in the mood to talk about it.”

Hanson raised an eyebrow at that comment, turning to face her at the bar. “Yeah, but keeping it inside ain’t ‘gonna help.” He took a sip of his own drink, relenting to only a bottle of beer. He set the bottle back down, looking at her. He had been her partner long enough to know the look. The slightly closed eyes, focused on something he couldn’t see. The slumped shoulders, the shallow breathing. She was in a sadness, and a deep one, by the look of it. He asked the question that first came to his mind.

“Does this have something to do with Henry?”

Jo opened her eyes wider, turning her head at an angle to look at Hanson.

“I mean, you two have been avoiding each other for a while.”

Jo blinked in confusion. “You’ve noticed?”

Hanson nodded. “Yeah, I’ve noticed. Since Lucas is around the doc all the time, he was the first one to see it, and then it caught on to me.”

Jo looked back down at her glass, reaching for it once again. She took a bigger than necessarily sip, putting back down. She sighed, staying silent.

“Jo, look.” Hanson began, putting the beer to the side so he wouldn’t be inclined to each for it, “I don’t know what you guys are going through, but it’s ‘gotta stop eventually. You can’t keep working like–”

“Mike.” Jo looked back at him, an unreadable expression on her face.

Now it was Hanson’s turn to gasp slightly. She never used his first name, unless for calling out in a dangerous situation. It felt foreign to hear it.

“What Henry and I are going through is private, and I don’t want to discuss it.” She turned.

Hanson breathed out his nose in slight exasperation. “Jo, how much have you had to drink?“

Jo turned back to him now, with an angry expression on her face. She opened her mouth to rebut him, but he continued on.

“Do you know what we were doing last winter? When Henry revealed he had a stalker?” Hanson looked over to her, looking her right in the eyes. “We all could tell how nervous he was. He was sure we wouldn’t believe him. But we did. And do you know why?”

Hanson paused, giving Jo the chance to answer, but she didn’t and kept staring, so he trailed on.

“It was because we were friends to him. And we still are. When he killed that son of a bitch by accident, look at the way we were there for him.”

“That was one time though.” Jo answered, pushing her glass aside now. She has lost her interest in drinking.

“And it meant the world to him.” Hanson placed his ace on the table, leaving Jo wide eyed looking away. “I’m still his friend. I greet him when I can. It’s awesome when he gets proud at the work Lucas does. But seeing him sad is something I can’t handle. Either you guys make up, or–”

He felt a hand on his shoulder. Jo hadn’t looked his way–she was still focusing on the table–but she spoke up.

“It’s not that simple.” She answered abruptly.

Hanson smirked at that, looking back down at the bar. “What could be better than making friends with him?”

Jo opened her mouth to answer, but then closed it. She was going to say it. The name. Her husband. She thought she had brushed aside the memories of him. But now, when she thought of him, the first memory she thought of now was him. Standing in her doorway, all bundled up like some pig in a blanket. He was shivering, but still managed that damned smile.

Thought you might need some company.

That’s what the winter reminded her of. Hanson was right. Man…she hated it that he was right. She couldn’t help it though as she let loose a small smile, which didn’t go noticed by her partner as he smiled back.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My contribution to the Christmas Fics/Ficathon

“Hey, there’s another present for you.”

Henry looked over his shoulder, away from the snowfall outside the window. He had positioned his chair there to stare at nature in the winter. A thin blanket covered the sidewalks and the streets, for the snow plows hadn’t reached their road yet.

“For me?” He spoke, setting his cup of scotch down. He began to stand up.

“Yeah,” His son commented back. “I found it on the doorstep when I went to turn off the outside lights.” He flipped over the small box, hearing something rattle inside. It wasn’t wrapped, but it had a black ribbon tied around it to keep it closed. It was small and fit in the palm of his hand. On the top of the lid, it had a white label that had “Henry” written in all caps and black marker.

Carefully, Henry took it from his son, walking back to his seat. He stared at it for a few seconds, blinking. He wondered who it could be from. It could be an extra gift from somebody, but they had all done a gift exchange at work the day before. Jo had gotten him a nice, maroon scarf, Hanson had got him, and he quotes, “an old timey ink pen that his grandfather had used,” and Lucas had gotten him a shirt with “Trust Me, I’m The Doctor” written on the front of it. He told him it was from a TV show and thought it would suit him well. Henry didn’t see himself wearing it, but a gift was a gift.

Except for this gift, which had been mysteriously plopped on his front door.

He pulled at the black ribbon, loosening it from the box. He opened the lid, and inside was tissue paper. He pulled back the flaps to reveal a hunk of rusted metal inside a small glass case, and a letter. Henry reached for the small rusted fragment, holding it up to the light. He made a confused face.

“What is it?” Abe inquired.

“It’s a piece of rusted metal.” Henry answered flatly. “By the rust formation, I’d say this has been underwater for a very long time.” It looked to be from a ship of some sort. “Maybe the letter will shed some light.” Henry set the fragment down. He reached for the letter, unfolding it. It was written in neat handwriting with an ink pen.

_Henry,_

_I know we haven’t spoken in a while. I can understand that. However, I thought you may want to know that I’m back._

_Of course, it is Christmas, and I wouldn’t want to ruin your holiday. Instead, I hope you like this little gift. If you were curious, it’s a piece of metal from the hull of the RMS Titanic. It was given to me by a friend when he and a group of other people went on a diving exhibition in 1997. I figured it would sit snugly in your collection. Surely, Fifth Officer Harold Lowe would agree with me, yes?_

_Happy Holidays._

_Your fan,_

“Adam.” Henry almost tore the note. He had the knew the man had finally broken out of the Locked-In Syndrome after enduring it for seven months, but after seeing him one last time in November, like before, Adam had dropped off the face of the Earth. Now he was back, and with a gift to boot.

But, of course, Adam would know the false identify he had given himself after deciding America was the place to start anew. He had signed up to be an officer, seeing it as an easy voyage. Of course, the unsinkable sinking hadn’t been in his plans. Somehow, he hadn’t died that day. Stroke of luck, he guessed.

Instead, he set the note gently aside, leaning back into the chair. He looked over at Abe, who had picked up the note and was reading it over.

“It’s funny.” Henry couldn’t help but let loose a light chuckle, causing Abe to look up from the note. “Who would’ve thought Adam was capable of being nice.”

“Well…” Abe set the note down, picking up the piece of glass that the rusted fragment was inside. “Maybe the Christmas spirit has gotten to him.”


End file.
